Lately I have been thinking about honesty. It’s such a difficult thing to be
sometimes, honest. I care too much about what people think,
which is why it’s taken me so long to start writing again.

When you worry about what people think, you censor
yourself. In a recent post I wrote some things that
were hurtful to people I love deeply. They were wounded by my words. I am not proud of this.

The truth is often subjective. I look at life through the biased lens of my
own experience. I meant it when I said
that depression is selfish because when I’m depressed I tend to take things so
damn personally (as if it’s all about me all the time).

It’s much easier to blame others for why we are feeling
badly. It’s much harder to accept
responsibility for over-analyzing or taking comments to heart. Last week I found myself in a dark place, pointing
fingers at anyone but myself.

As a consequence of what I wrote, I had some difficult
conversations with family members. Raw,
uncomfortable and vulnerable.

I realized today that I dislike vulnerability. A lot. My mother raised me to be strong and tough so I wouldn't feel as much
pain out in the world. As a result I
tend to view vulnerability as a weakness.

I’m grateful those difficult conversations were had. I feel that they are just the beginnings of better, more honest communication. I
am working on not pretending to be fine. On letting
certain things slide. On creating some
healthy distance between other people’s actions and my own heart.

I’d also like to stop being an expert at putting my
game-face on. I can walk into a social
setting, dripping with homesickness, devastated from an argument or stressed
out about work- and the smiles and jokes would flow as if it were a normal day.

I barely made it to a talk called “Adjusting to New
Parenting,” with my mother’s group. I
was stressed and exhausted with my newborn at the time. I breezed in 10 minutes late, flustered and
anxious but must have concealed it well.

The talk was actually about Post Natal Depression. The organizers gave it a different title in
order to attract more people. There were
three of us in attendance. Maybe word had
gotten out. I remember someone making a
comment, “Well since we are the ones who actually made it here, I don’t
think we are the ones who need help.” She then proceeded to ask how she could help others who might be
struggling.

I remember learning that day, usually the mothers who seem
like they have it together are the ones struggling most.

Am I that person?

I have not told my Mother’s group about this blog or that I’m
in counselling. I mean we talk about
EVERYTHING in gory detail. Of all people who would be able to understand
exactly what I’m going through....they would!

I spoke about this with my therapist today (who has grown on
me quite a lot since my initial resistance). She asked me what I
felt about not sharing with my Mother’s group. I squirmed in my seat like I squirm every time a caring friend asks me: “How
are you doing?”

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Everything's Fine

Lately I have been thinking about honesty. It’s such a difficult thing to be
sometimes, honest. I care too much about what people think,
which is why it’s taken me so long to start writing again.

When you worry about what people think, you censor
yourself. In a recent post I wrote some things that
were hurtful to people I love deeply. They were wounded by my words. I am not proud of this.

The truth is often subjective. I look at life through the biased lens of my
own experience. I meant it when I said
that depression is selfish because when I’m depressed I tend to take things so
damn personally (as if it’s all about me all the time).

It’s much easier to blame others for why we are feeling
badly. It’s much harder to accept
responsibility for over-analyzing or taking comments to heart. Last week I found myself in a dark place, pointing
fingers at anyone but myself.

As a consequence of what I wrote, I had some difficult
conversations with family members. Raw,
uncomfortable and vulnerable.

I realized today that I dislike vulnerability. A lot. My mother raised me to be strong and tough so I wouldn't feel as much
pain out in the world. As a result I
tend to view vulnerability as a weakness.

I’m grateful those difficult conversations were had. I feel that they are just the beginnings of better, more honest communication. I
am working on not pretending to be fine. On letting
certain things slide. On creating some
healthy distance between other people’s actions and my own heart.

I’d also like to stop being an expert at putting my
game-face on. I can walk into a social
setting, dripping with homesickness, devastated from an argument or stressed
out about work- and the smiles and jokes would flow as if it were a normal day.

I barely made it to a talk called “Adjusting to New
Parenting,” with my mother’s group. I
was stressed and exhausted with my newborn at the time. I breezed in 10 minutes late, flustered and
anxious but must have concealed it well.

The talk was actually about Post Natal Depression. The organizers gave it a different title in
order to attract more people. There were
three of us in attendance. Maybe word had
gotten out. I remember someone making a
comment, “Well since we are the ones who actually made it here, I don’t
think we are the ones who need help.” She then proceeded to ask how she could help others who might be
struggling.

I remember learning that day, usually the mothers who seem
like they have it together are the ones struggling most.

Am I that person?

I have not told my Mother’s group about this blog or that I’m
in counselling. I mean we talk about
EVERYTHING in gory detail. Of all people who would be able to understand
exactly what I’m going through....they would!

I spoke about this with my therapist today (who has grown on
me quite a lot since my initial resistance). She asked me what I
felt about not sharing with my Mother’s group. I squirmed in my seat like I squirm every time a caring friend asks me: “How
are you doing?”